


Your Faithful Servant

by Koruga



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: I love minor characters so much it's unreal, M/M, Regency-Era Gay Pining, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:41:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23624788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koruga/pseuds/Koruga
Summary: Barnabas has always been one to write letters to Jonah, and Jonah isn't always in a position to write back
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 7
Kudos: 34
Collections: Associated Articles Regarding One Jonah Magnus





	Your Faithful Servant

**Author's Note:**

> I've been in love with Barnabas as a concept for months now, but a few other works finally convinced me to get my ass in gear and write some proper fanfic for him instead of lazing around drawing fanart of his dumbass pretty face.
> 
> I debated writing more of this, making this multi-chapter with more stuff in it, but I think I'll leave it complete for now. If I actually have something more to add I'll tack it on, but I think it's decent as it is.
> 
> Please enjoy my cool sexy interpretation of this character we got roughly five minutes of content from, because that's just where my life is! And don't think too hard about historical accuracy.

_Faithful Jonah,_

_I cannot begin to tell you how excited I am for the opening of your Institute in Edinburgh. I can only hope I will be able to attend its launching into the public sphere — you may know already that I have been unfortunately busy in London with my work. It seems as if every day trends are becoming more and more complex, and I hardly have time to style just myself properly when every bright-eyed man is coming into my shop for measurements and shirts and jackets._

_I don't mean to complain about my business to you, of course. I am, as always, grateful for the work and the coin, and I do hate to keep my hands idle when they could be sewing something of beauty, but I worry that with the influx of new customers, the time I spend with you in both person and in ink will be sorely diminished. I have only heard of the new friends you have managed to make, the strange men of your stranger circle, and I dearly wish to learn more, in person I hope, to become a part of the world you have so easily ingratiated yourself into._

_And you are so skilled with sociality, Jonah. I know you don't think yourself as such, but if only you could see yourself, you would know how beautifully you move within the public sphere. I am in awe of how easily you speak with strangers, befriending them easily when I would keep them at a distance as much by my very being as it is my own volition. You never cease to astound me, Jonah, and I'm sure you know it all too well._

_Perhaps it would be more prudent for me to sing your praises the next time we can see each other in person. It seems insincere only writing it in a letter, where you can't know how many times I've practiced a single line until I'm pleased with how it sounds. Perhaps less serious matters are in order._

_My brother has returned from his visit to France! I was awfully worried about him, you understand, with the political climate as it is over there. I understand that his job is to observe and detail the goings-on of the time, but I could do without the panic that comes with being unable to keep a proper correspondence with him. But he has returned, safe and sound, relatively speaking! I told him about your new developments, and he was as dismissive as he always is about your fascination with the unnatural, but he told me still to give you his regards, so, regards from William as well as myself. I have been trying to explain your theories and strange turns of concept to him, but I've never been quite as skilled at the explanation of the occult as you are. Perhaps next time you come to London you can explain it to him in person. Permitting that he hasn't run off again!_

_If he has, you can explain it to me instead. The last time you came down to London, I was still in the process of decorating my house, but you'll be pleased to know that it's fully furnished now, with a highly comfortable guest room that you're always welcome to stay in. You are still right, it can feel rather empty when I'm the only one living in it, but even if I didn't have a housekeeper come in a few times per week, I have come into possession of a darling kitten that is more than capable of keeping me company while you and my brother are both away. Timothy Campbell of Savile Row is a kind and stalwart companion, settled warm and cosy in my lap as I write this._

_Your friend Mr. Lukas came to my shop last week. He is exactly as you described, and I fear I may not have noticed him at all had he not asked if I were the owner of the establishment. Oh, the embarrassment I showed, sputtering about when he gave his name and my mind finally turned enough to connect this ghostly giant of a man with your benefactor. He paid me well for my time, and more for putting his order before any other. I do believe he plans on wearing the navy coat I'm making for him to the opening of your Institute, Jonah, and he will look very dashing besides. I do hope you won't tell him that I've spoiled the surprise, but I do intend for it to be perfect, and I can't keep a secret to myself. The brass buttons are to have images of the ocean etched upon them, a wonderful touch that I would never have been able to think of myself. Truly, you surround yourself with artists, all accentuating the brilliant glow that you exude from your very being._

_I do hope I will be able to join you up in Edinburgh, even if not for the grand showing of your Institute to the rest of the world. I dream of our meetings constantly, the uncontested joy of your presence and conversation. But I understand that you are a busy man, and I will not trouble you with my disjointed thoughts any longer. I will only wish you good luck, and the best of things to come in your academic endeavours._

_With all my adoration,_

_Your Barnabas._

Jonah smiled quietly as he gazed at Barnabas's signature, the flourish of the B he had come to know so well. Bennett had no great skill in penmanship, but the care he put into each letter he sent to his old friend was readily apparent. Jonah kept each letter safe at home, accompanied with each drawing sent with it.

It was a sweet little habit, one that began as a mistake. Barnabas had sent a sketch of one of the jackets he was intending to make up to Edinburgh with his letter, followed a day after by a panicked request for it back. Jonah never had acquiesced, but his words of praise for the artwork and its detail seemed to have had quite the effect on dear old Barny, and each subsequent letter included at least one drawing as a matter of course.

Perhaps that was where his penmanship skills had gone, Jonah mused, smoothing out the piece in front of him. For all his lackadaisical attitude and obliviousness, Barnabas took real pride in his work, detailing every inch of his sketches for the tailory. The man drawn in front of him was broad-shouldered, large, almost intimidating were it not for a quiet, almost imperceptible _lack_ around him that was all but impossible to truly put to ink. His gaze was purposefully averted from the viewer, expression stony, and the specifications written across the page were for the coat the fighter was wearing.

Jonah couldn't help but chuckle. A preview of what was to come with Mordechai, then. Barnabas had truly captured the man's essence, in such delicate terms. Lukas would pay him handsomely for such work, he hoped. His dear Bennett deserved the money, and Lukas could more than afford a little generosity.

It would be nice for Barnabas to make a new friend, as well. The poor man was friendly enough, but could never manage to make proper friends, always keeping people at arm's length even when he wanted to form a genuine connection. A shame it had to be Mordechai, of all people, but Barnabas couldn't exactly afford to be picky when it came to the company he kept, most especially not when the company was someone so much better-off than either Barnabas or even Jonah himself. This was good, Jonah assured himself. Perhaps Barnabas would begin moving up in the world, now that he had such an in with a higher calibre of people. Jonah picked up his quill and tapped it against the blank parchment that was to become his reply. How best to thank him for his generosity?

There were weeks, months sometimes where Jonah wouldn't reply to Barnabas's letters, and he certainly didn't have time now, so soon to the opening of his Institute. The tailor, of course, was undeterred, penning a new reply every week in which he detailed the goings-on of his business and the life of himself and his assistants. He didn't know them well, but he knew them nonetheless, and it provided an easy excuse to prattle on. As much as Jonah would chide Barnabas for being so effusive and open in his letters, he had to admit he enjoyed receiving them. Unlike so many people Jonah knew in academia, Barnabas was honest, an open book. Jonah never worried about _Barnabas_ sneaking into his mind and ripping out all the secrets as he did with some of his contemporaries. He couldn't, even if he wanted to — Barnabas was a simple man, with simple goals. Jonah kept his secrets too well-hidden for such a gentle soul to uncover anything Jonah didn't explicitly allow him to.

He'd wait for the opening of the Institute. If Barnabas properly managed to show up, all the way from London, they could speak in person, and Jonah could let Barnabas's excitement bubble to the surface as he spun his meaningless stories before he spoke of his own achievements. He could imagine Barnabas now — eyes wide and mouth slightly agape in rapt fascination, one hand tangled unthinkingly in his blond curls. It didn't matter if the story held any real weight behind it or not. Barnabas was always there, always all too happy to listen to whatever story Jonah could share. He was, perhaps, a constant in Jonah's life, the ever-impressed ingenue.

He was losing himself in his thoughts again. Jonah shook his head, and filed the letter away. He would draft a response when the Institute finally opened.

  
  


* * *

  
  


"Mr. Rayner. Thank you for choosing to attend the opening of the Magnus Institute. I understand you're a busy man, and your patronage is highly valued." Jonah smiled politely up at the blind man, though his eyes were focused instead on the servant behind him. Rayner was rarely seen without the youth, hardly ever apart from the child. It would make sense for him to have a guide, perhaps, but Rayner never seemed to be troubled by his inability to see.

_Fascinating, that. Untroubled by blindness, uncaring to anyone who might be looking at him. The idea was almost appealing._

Rayner smiled back, almost sardonically. "I'm always happy to support those peering into the unknown. So long as you're prepared for what could be looking back."

"Or not looking back, as the case may be!" chimed in another patron. Simon Whitsbur _(please, just Simon will do fine, my boy)_ if Jonah remembered correctly, and didn't he seem to be in a good mood. "I wouldn't put too much stock in what Rayner here says, you know. He's far too involved with himself, and he just _hates_ learning new things. He'd rather all of humanity were kept in the dark —" Simon was cut off by Rayner's cane connecting with his own, sending the older man crashing to the ground in a fit of laughter. Jonah started, and made to pick him up, but Simon waved him off with a few more giggles, standing up with the energy of a far-younger man. "Awfully testy today, aren't we?" he asked Rayner, who seemed entirely unimpressed. "No need to be angry, I think I've found something you might like. A real treat for you, come along." Simon grabbed his cane from the ground and practically floated off, taking Rayner with him.

A peculiar old man, indeed. Jonah watched him skip away with Rayner to speak with another guest, and turned his attention to the clarence that had just arrived. It was a handsome little thing, led by misty grey horses and a practically invisible driver, and Jonah wasn't surprised in the least when the tall, broad figure of Mordechai Lukas dipped out of the carriage. The man was awfully predictable, in the end.

What did manage to surprise him was the head of blond curls that hopped out after him, rosy cheeks and lips to match. The contrast was startling — Barnabas in soft olive tones with a finely-stitched bag clutched in his hands, a far cry from the man who'd brought him here and looked more properly dressed for a funeral than a celebration. Lukas's eyes seemed to almost glaze over those in attendance, stopping on Jonah only out of a sense of obligation, whereas Barnabas lit up upon seeing his friend, the one man he knew in the whole city. He looked over at Lukas, asked a question Jonah couldn't make out, and received what seemed to be a negative reply judging by the way his expression crumpled slightly.

Jonah looked away, loathe to be caught so openly staring, even if two guests had arrived horribly late without anything to show for it. He had other guests that required his attention, and he couldn't waste all his time on a rich recluse and a wide-eyed tailor, no matter how much he'd like to.

  
  


* * *

  
  


As it turned out, Jonah needn't have worried too much about speaking with Mordechai Lukas. The man had greeted Jonah politely enough, and congratulated him on the new enterprise before informing him that the Lukas estate would be sending a contract over soon which would discuss the terms of their patronage. As it stood, they had the potential to be Jonah's largest donor, so it would do him well to be careful with them. Several hours later, Jonah was sitting at his brand new desk, reading over the missives and proposals his first guests and patrons had granted him.

"Mr. Magnus?" Jonah glanced up to see his new assistant, Jacques Bouchard, standing at the door. "I understand you've work to do, but you have a visitor. He seemed rather insistent to see you." Bouchard's tone made it clear he didn't understand why whoever it was had taken so long to speak. Jonah had been more than willing to converse with everyone at the Institute's opening, but everyone here had work they needed to do, Jonah most of all.

Jonah liked Bouchard. He understood how Jonah felt, was receptive to his needs and wants. Jonah respected that in a subordinate, and he would rather send whoever it was away as well. Unfortunately, the Institute was still in its infancy, and Jonah couldn't afford to burn any bridges. He set down the paper he'd been reading, another invitation from Smirke regarding a get-together with some more figures of the occult, and nodded for Bouchard to let whoever the guest was into his office.

In no time at all, he was greeted by a familiar face rushing in with a grin, still clutching the bag in his hands. "This place is _fantastic,_ Jonah!" Barnabas gushed, looking around the room with a familiar light in his eyes. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you in advance that I would be coming, but it was rather impromptu. After Mr. Lukas came to pick up his coat, I asked him about you, and he invited me to join him. I left the shop in the hands of my assistants for the week, but I trust them to manage everything fine while I'm gone." Barnabas curled one hand into the back of his hair and smiled dreamily before finally looking back at Jonah. He was as enthusiastic as ever, drawn in entirely by Jonah's success. "I didn't mean to intrude, but I had to see your dream made manifest. I even brought you something, actually!" His fine fingers fumbled with the bag for a few seconds before opening it up, and gently setting down a pair of objects. First, a delicately-sewn handkerchief, the initials _JM_ embroidered onto one corner, and a smaller pair of letters, _BB_ , on the opposite side. And placed on top of that, with all the care in the world, what looked to be a human skull.

Jonah stared at the two gifts for what felt like several minutes, before his eyes flicked back up at an increasingly nervous-looking Barnabas. "Barnabas," Jonah began slowly, "is this what I think it is?"

"Well, alright, the skull is haunted. Or, it might be haunted. I, er, when I went to Egypt, a few years back, I found it in the desert. With a few things, actually, it was set up in what looked to be an abandoned campsite." Barnabas played nervously with the sleeve of his shirt. "An exploration team, I think. They looked to be English, not too different from the people I had been exploring with, but, ah, the entire place was abandoned. There were no bodies, save for the skull right here. It was strange, and I, well." He gestured at the skull. "I took it with me. I meant to have it examined, but could never bring myself to ask an expert in the field about it. I thought you might like it, a relic of an unexplained phenomenon."

Jonah stayed silent.

"I know it's morbid, but I thought you would enjoy it more than I could. If you don't, I can —"

"Barnabas." Jonah's voice cut through Barnabas's growing anxiety, and he pulled the skull closer. "I love it. It may not be an orthodox gift, but it will do wonderfully in the Institute." The handkerchief, next, folded up and placed lovingly in his pocket. "Thank you, Barnabas. Truly."

Barnabas visibly slumped in relief, and finally seemed to realise there was a chair he could sit in. He practically fell down in a heap, smiling ear to ear in the euphoria of having pleased a friend. "Good, good! I'm glad you like it. But, that should be enough about me! We haven't spoken properly in months — you know I love reading your letters, but it's not the same as listening to your voice." A pale pink dusted Barnabas's warm cheeks. "You've had so much to do, and I've been the one prattling on about myself, I can't imagine you're all too interested in what I have to say at this point. You've been so furiously busy, you have to tell me about it. I've been itching to know for weeks, since your last letter."

Barnabas's enthusiasm was charming, as always. His adulation of Jonah, how willing he was to please, to listen, to do anything for him. They were friends, after all, and friends helped one another, cared for one another, and Barnabas had always had so few friends. He focused all his attention on Jonah, all eyes on him, never judging, only yearning. Barnabas wasn't a very clever man, never one for difficult mind games or theories beyond his mind; even his connections with the Royal Society were more along the lines of servitude in exchange for fine pay. But he was willing, and energetic, and there was a certain charm to him that had nothing to do with his mind. He liked Jonah, and wanted desperately for Jonah to like him back. And, perhaps, if the mood struck him, Jonah could give him what he wanted.

With one smooth motion, he stood up, walking over and resting one hand on Barnabas's chair and one on his shoulder. "I'm sure I could, but I'm afraid you've piqued my interest with your story. You'll have to tell me all about it now, and let me add it to my collection of strange occurrences. I am starting an Institute for this sort of thing, after all, and I can't imagine a better candidate for our first storyteller than you." He watched Barnabas slowly flush further, looking away in his fluster. Jonah leaned in further, his lips brushing against Barnabas's jaw to whisper directly into his ear. "Would you do me the honours, my dear Barnabas?"

Breathless, Barnabas nodded, and Jonah returned to his desk to retrieve a quill and paper. He dipped the quill in an inkwell, wrote the date and Barnabas's name carefully at the top, and looked at Barnabas expectantly. "Well then, whenever you're ready to give your statement, I'll be thrilled to receive it."

In front of Jonah, Barnabas Bennett took a deep breath, and began to speak.


End file.
